


Odds and Ends

by CynicalGinger



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, Family Drama, Feelings are metal, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-14 15:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalGinger/pseuds/CynicalGinger
Summary: Shorts I couldn't fit into any of my other fics. Mostly one-offs I posted elsewhere, with a bit of editing and polish.





	1. lately I'm foolish I don't do this

**Author's Note:**

> I REALLY needed somewhere to put the odd bits that were too short to be their own fic or a fragment I cut from a fic. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Skwisgaar didn’t have a coherent response to being manhandled into a bathroom stall and shoved against the door, but at some point between Toki leaning in to kiss him again, and then unbuckling his belt, it sort of occurred to Skwisgaar that his friend was planning to go down on him. And that Skwisgaar was painfully hard. And that Toki had zero hesitation as he sank to his knees and pulled his friend’s dick out of his trousers. And that _oh gods_ Toki was actually sucking a dick in a bathroom stall and Skwisgaar’s heart was thudding in his chest and his face was embarrassingly flushed and he was trying to grab at something that wasn’t Toki’s hair and failing miserably.  
  
How in the hell was Toki so good at this? Skwisgaar felt the pit of his stomach drop every time Toki’s head bobbed, and that was nothing compared to that thing he did with his tongue across the head of Skwisgaar’s dick and _shit shit shit_ Skwisgaar was trying to choke put a warning and Toki seemed to take that as a personal challenge-  
  
In retrospect, Skwisgaar would be embarrassed at coming so quickly. In his defence… no, there wasn’t really any defence. Toki sucking him off had given him a bigger rush than he’d had in ages. It was better than a line of cocaine, even better than fucking through more women than he’d remember the next day.  
  
Skwisgaar barely had any time to process that Toki was tucking his softening dick back into his trousers and zipping him up. He looked like he was trying to leave, and frankly, that pissed Skwisgaar off more than anything else. “And wheres… do you thinks you going?”  
  
“Outs.” Toki seemed to notice that Skwisgaar was irritated by this turn of events, which seemed to give him pause. “Oh! Oh, was you goings to…”  
  
“Dids you think you ams leaving after you blows me without getting anythings?” Skwisgaar frowned.  
  
It was a short lived frown. Toki pushed him back against the wall and kissed him again. If Skwisgaar wanted to protest that really _Toki_ should be against the wall for ease of access, he forgot about it when Toki’s hand slipped into his hair and tugged just lightly enough to be a distraction.  
  
Gods, he was _fucked_.


	2. A Rose by any other name would still be dealing with your nonsense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose Explosion doesn't get enough love.

People who thought that living in Suburban Hell made you soft didn’t understand what it entailed. The luxury and the picturesque street views were lovely, and Rose knew it was undeniably better to be in the safe, blissfully ignorant bubble than outside it. But there was no time for sentiment or complacency, not here. Suburban Hell was a neighbourhood of lovely people with charming smiles and wonderful children… and every single one of them would stab you in the back at a moment’s notice. Especially the nice ones.

The problem was, the more people had, the more they had to lose. Everything was a competition - whose husband had a promotion, whose child had won this or that award, whose apple pie was best in the neighbourhood… even the smallest things warped until they were about trying to one-up each other. It wa the sort of thing that would drive the wrong kind of person mad.  
  
Rose Explosion was not the wrong kind of person.

The other Moms had their own things going for them. Christine ran an upmarket beauty salon and never looked anything less than perfect. Ruolan was a respected professor and could speak at least four languages. Muriel was a retired botanist who could and did pass judgement on everyone’s gardens. Jenny ran marathons and got up disgustingly early to train. Beatriz organised damn near everything, from the neighbourhood watch to PTA meetings. Mrs Miller, sweet old thing that she was, baked better than anyone in the neighbourhood.  
  
And Rose?  
  
Rose was _amazing_ at making friends. Casual dinner parties and little get-togethers were her specialty, seating the neighbourhood parents around a table and watching them all get a little too drunk. Nobody knew more than Rose, not when it came to the really dirty secrets and the things noboody ever wanted anyone else to know. But who wouldn’t trust Rose? She was so… nice. Unthreatening. Happy to bring guests a glass of homemade lemonade or iced tea and listen sympathetically.

Nobody wanted to fuck with the nice one, and nobody expected the nice one to fuck with them. Oh, sometimes people tried it, but it was almost too easy to sic them on each other. Like that one time Christine had gotten a little too free with her comments about how Rose could ‘use some work’, and Rose pleasently told Mrs Miller that it was sweet how well Christine got on with Jenny’s husband, which devilved into Mrs Miller dropping hints about infidelity during a pool party. Being a divorcee was far more to Jenny’s liking, and Rose made sure that she was a model of support during such a difficult time, all the while getting the satisfaction of watching Christine look more than a little guilty at every dinner party.

In spite of the dramatics, the neighbourhood was a good place to raise a kid. Nathan was quiet (’he might never be able to function in society’, the doctors had said) but Rose knew that he was pretty much always thinking. He worried a lot. Sometimes he sat in the kitchen as Rose made dinner, and spoke about the things he was interested in. Dissection, football, motorbikes… Nathan was fine chatting about things like that, as long as he didn’t think his mom was going to laugh at him. And Rose loved listening to her son, as long as he understood that he had to learn how to drive a motorbike safely and that dissection shoul only happen in a lab. Nathan was happy to go on trips with his dad, and he was happy talking to his mom.  
  
Things got more difficult the older Nathan got. He became more distant with Rose, and seemed to gravitate towards his father. Even before he decided to up and leave to pursue metal music, Nathan had been drifting from his mother for a while. He seemed to have gotten it into his head that it wasn’t ‘cool’ to be close to his mother, and so he drifted outside her sphere of influence. Even as she smiled at her son and tried to be encouraging from the sidelines, Rose felt a little pang in her heart every time Nathan turned away from her.

A lesser woman would have been brokenhearted by someting so monumental, but this was Rose Explosion. She had faced down well-meaning doctors and cruel neighbours who thought she should get a nose job and botox. If she had to wait for her son to come around, she was damn well going to do it.


	3. I hunger for you(r skin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on some research a certain person did on skin hunger and touch starvation

Electricity danced in Skwisgaar’s blood as he pulled Toki into the blinding white room and shoved him onto the bed, crawling on top of him and capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. He hadn’t wanted someone the way he wanted Toki in so long, so _incredibly long_. He hadn’t felt anything much for anyone in a long time, and he had missed feeling powerful and beautiful. He had missed _wanting_. He wanted Toki in ways he wasn’t sure he could have him, but that was fine, because Skwisgaar was going to fuck Toki. At that very moment he was kissing Toki and pinning him in place, only pausing to tear off Toki’s shirt with detached efficiency.

This was fine, Skwisgaar thought. Before tonight he had been worried that he would get upset and emotional when he finally got Toki in bed, but he was safe. A familiar ease settled over Skwisgaar as he kissed Toki, grinding down and making short work of his own shirt. Toki’s eyes were blown, dark and wide with pleasure, and he was looking up at Skwisgaar with reverence and… there was maybe a bit of… concern in there? But no, Skwisgaar wasn’t going to Question that, he wasn’t going to think about it, there wasn’t any room here for anything but heading to unbutton Toki’s jeans and free his cock. That was what Skwisgaar did, that was what he did, and no, no he didn’t want to think about how he almost lost Toki, or about how Toki had taken him after everything they had done to each other, how they were at a good place now and how _fucking terrifying_ it was to actually have that much trust and faith in another damn human being…

Toki grabbed Skwisgaar’s wrists and held them in place. His touch was surprising, bringing Skwisgaar out of whatever disassociation he had been feeling and into the moment. “What?” Skwisgaar snapped, suddenly aware that his blood was screaming and his head was pounding.

“Slows down,” Toki said, “Yous going at it so fast I barely sees you.” He took Skwisgaar’s hands, balled into fists, and gently pressed a kiss on each of them. “You ams beautiful, I don’ts want to not sees you.”

Skwisgaar found himself unable to properly respond. His heart thudded in his chest at the small, soft, warm sensation of his kissed hand, and Skwisgaar wrestled with trying to remain calm and the simple fact that his heart felt too big for its cage, like it might rip open his skin and betray him. Toki let go of his hands and Skwisgaar instinctively grabbed onto them again, as if they were his lifeline and Toki was the only thing that would stop him from sinking. Or maybe he was pulling himself back under. “Please.”

“Please what?” 

“Please… I… I want…” Skwisgaar trailed off. Toki was warm under him, warm and safe and wherever Toki touched him, Skwisgaar realised that he needed it. That he had been without it for so long he had forgotten what it felt like to be with a person and to just be held, to be touched, to want to fuse into someone else’s skin and stay there. He couldn’t convey everything in words, and trying to think about it made him panic. Trying to make sense of it only made Skwisgaar more anxious that he would lose whatever it was Toki was giving to him. “I needs. I needs you to just. Touches me all over. Likes you ams loving me and not wantings me to ever leaves and ams tryings to keep me next to you.”

A request which Skwisgaar would have struggled to perform, and yet Toki set about doing it with care. He shuffled backwards onto the bed, taking Skwisgaar’s hand and guiding him upwards until they were both lying facing each other. Toki slung an arm round Skwisgaar and hugged him close stroking his back and speaking in a low, comforting voice. “It’s okays. Safe in here. Don’ts haves to worry about anybodies else. Toki’s here.”

He felt himself melting in Toki’s arms, and the feeling only intensified when Toki started using his free hand to stroke his hair. The feeling of strong, firm fingers tangled in his hair and gently rubbing his scalp was the last straw. Something in Skwisgaar snapped, and he let out a choked sob. He cried into Toki’s chest, pressing his face as far into it as was physically possible. Skwisgaar clung to Toki, sobbing heavily, struggling to suck in breaths of air. It was undignified, and it made Skwisgaar vulnerable, and if Toki ever decided to _tell_ anyone Skwisgaar would _never_ live it down.

Except. There wasn't really any need to fear that, not any more.

Toki held on to Skwisgaar and kept patting his hair and stroking his back. Something about the softness of him, about the patience and the… love? The love in his actions? Whatever it was, it was exhausting and necessary. Skwisgaar felt more like himself. Of course, he had also cried himself to exhaustion and didn’t think he was going to be able to look Toki in the eye for quite a long time, so there was that. “Sorry.” He mumbled. The arms holding him squeezed tighter in response.

Skwisgaar had never felt so loved. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stargazing Skwistok, originally written for a friend.

The view of the sky from on top of Mordhaus was beautiful, in a deadly sort of way. At night Toki could see stars stretching out across the darkness forever. Even with light pollution, he was far enough into the sky to rise above it and see the aftermath of stars exploding. 

After everything Magnus and the Assassin had put him through, Toki noticed that he sometimes felt a little bit too big for his skin. Like there was a universe in him that wanted to get out. It felt like something enveloping himself, like there was too much of him and it was circling round his skin to protect him from-  
  
-what exactly it might be, Toki couldn’t guess. He didn’t know if it was a response to trauma, like Abigail thought it was, or if it was a new kind of power, or if he had just changed so much in that time and trying to face a new reality was making him feel a bit out of body. Whatever it was, it made him claustraphobic as hell, and it liked to strike whenever he was supposed to be getting to sleep. So he went to the roof. And he looked at the night sky, alone with his thoughts.  
  
Almost.   
  
How Skwisgaar seemed to know he was alone and on the roof every time it happened was a mystery to Toki (except he was pretty sure a Klokateer let the guys know when he did something that looked suicidal these days) but the company was nice. Skwisgaar never really said much unless Toki started it, but sometimes he’d make a weird philospohical point. And Toki would join him by making an observation of his own. 

(”Why does you thinks the skys haves so much appeals?”  
 “We can’ts gets to it. But you cans looks up and see it ams there. Like you haves something bigger staring yous right in the face.”  
“It ams a common point of refference, por-haps.”   
“Yeah, like that.”) 

It felt liks the old days. Kind of. 

Back then there was an unspoken… something. It was heavy and it lay between them, transmutating into fights or weird bouts of tension. Now though, Toki felt light. He wasn’t worried about being better than Skwisgaar, and it seemed Skwisgaar wasn’t afraid of letting Toki in. So it wasn’t really like the old days. Because Skwisgaar would never have lain back to look at the night sky on the roof of Mordhaus with Toki back then. Even if he had, it would never have been on a really soft cotton blanket Toki had brought because he knew Skwisgaar was sensitive and couldn’t stand synthetic fibers. And Skwisgaar would never have smiled at him and said “you rememberds” very softly, as if it wasn’t real and he didn’t want to shatter an illusion. It was real though. It was as real as the feel of Skwisgaar’s fingers entwined in Toki’s as they held hands and looked at the stars and spoke about nothing serious. 

So pretty fucking real.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After taking control of Dethklok post Doomstar, Abigail learns a thing about balance.

Snow came down, and Mordland seemed to have a unique chill in the air. Abigail barely acknowledged the changing seasons, shut up as she was, but this was noticeable. Even in her office, with heating and a blazing fireplace, she felt as though there was a coldness she just couldn’t quite shake. It clung to her, like ice staked into her joints, and reminded her of the bad break in her leg after her time in the pit-  
  
Abigail slammed her pen down on the table. Ink pooled across the paperwork she had been signing, spreading across the paper in a messy blot. She ignored the mess, heading over to the fireplace and holding out her hands to the heat. Only when she was up close to the flame did she feel a bit closer to normal. The pain in her leg still throbbed dully, but some warmth was better than nothing. She looked longingly at the fur coat hanging by the door. It was tempting, the idea of postphoning work and just… taking the day off. Phoning it in. Had Charles ever done that? No, Abigail knew that he wouldn’t. She didn’t need to ask. Charles was many things, but he would have balked at the idea of taking time off when there was work to be done.

 ** _But you are not Charles_** , said the voice in her head. That comforting, quiet voice which had never seemed to bother her before-

-before, when she was just a producer. The best damn producer, better than Knubbler or any other sad sap in the business. Being the manager changed things. People called her “Majesty” and bowed when she walked past. An army was at her command, a castle’s worth of servants at her disposal. One word from her, and nations would go to war. A gesture, a frown or the flick of her hand, and people would die. World leaders sent her treasure, a religious order looked to her for guidance and partnership, _the whole world_ thought she was someone important. Dethklok - the machinations and the people who made them work, from the lowest to highest positions, were all hers. Sure, she had help. It was insane that Offdensen had tried to do this job alone for so long. Abigail had a dedicated team, and she had the boys (who tried, to their credit). But the work was hard. And it didn’t get easier. Not really. 

The fire helped. Small things, Abigail thought, were the things that really helped. She did her best work when she was content. And there wasn’t really anything _majorly_ important that had to be done…

A glance at her phone showed Abigail a bunch of messages from the boys about their day. It was mostly selfies from Toki and Skwisgaar, and a weird request for cheesecake from Pickles. Abigail smiled. She messaged back “get your own damn cheesecake” and a string of heart emojis. The boys were fine. Mordhaus was secure. Nothing was going to fall to hell if she didn’t sign the forms in her office. Abigail had seen to that. 

“Grace?” Abigail called her secretary. “Have one of the Klokateers run me a bath. I’m finishing early today.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a oneshot about Charles adjusting to life as a cult leader because I was ill and needed something to distract myself with.

Running a cult was, surprisingly, less hassle than trying to corale Dethklok into behaving properly. For one thing, Charles never had to tell any of the cultists something twice. Ishnifus had always spoken to his fellow cultists in a soft but authoritative voice, frequently requesting rather than outright commanding. Charles was too much himself to do anything but issue commands. There was never any hesitation on the cultists’ part. Charles had the sneaking suspicion that if he asked one of them to jump into lava they would do it. 

It was awkward, knowing that there were men and women and people here who bowed to him because he wore the right robes and amulet. Charles was still trying to adjust to his new role. Upon leaving Dethklok, he had launched himself into the initiation process and seized control of the Church, just as Ishnifus had forseen. 

(Was it foresight when it was a sincere request? Then again, the cultists showed Charles the same deference as he had ended up showing Ishnifus. He had trusted that Charles would come to the same conclusions about where his leadership was needed the most. Did he know that Charles would accept because it was his destiny, or did he know that Charles would accept because he knew Charles?)

Within a few weeks, the transition of power was completed smoothly. Chalres ran a cult. Awfuly big organisation, drawing in a lot of funds. Many branches. Really, not a bad trade. There were accounts to look at! Personnel files to be sorted through. And he would need an assistant! 

…Except when he went to inquire about these things, the Elders murmured amongst themselves in a language Charles didn’t understand, before seeming to nominate a cultist to speak for them. She (Charles, for some reason, had the overwhelming feeling that the relatively androgynous cultist before him was a she) relayed to him that everything was taken care of. “But Most Holy, we are greatful and pleased that you have an interest in the structure of our Church. This vessel will report to you directly on all matters.” From under the cultist’s hood Charles could see a smile. “We are your hands, and we will reach where you may not.”  
  
“Ah.” Charles lifted his hand to button his suit jacket, then remembered that he didn’t wear one any more. Covering his embarassing fumble, he asked, “Does the Council of Elders require anything further?   
  
The Cultist hummed thoughtfully. “We are the hands. We have many eyes and ears. Our operations run to fulfil the glory of our beating heart Dethklok. Most Holy, our head, our guiding darkness, our shadow of consideration, must be considerate in turn. We bring to you, as we have always brought to our head, the reports of our work and the struggles we face. We rely on you for council, as our heart relies on you for your wisdom.”   
  
That would be a no. 

In fairness, the Elder Cultist was as good as her word. She brought Charles the accounts so he could check they were above board, and she came to him with queries and questions and dilemas, and asked for his guidance. Once the decisions were made, however, the cultist left to implement the changes. It left Charles with something he hadn’t experienced in years. 

Free time. 

Oh sure, there were services to lead, and training to supervise, and important liasons to keep, but so much of the Church was almost… automated. Ishnifus had seen to it that the Church would run much the same regardless of who was the High Holy Priest. Charles found himself with time to _relax._ When his work was done, he was able to read for a solid hour before services. He had been given a world class massage after one of the cultists commented on how tense he looked, and _had come out of the session destressed._ He had even had a glass of scotch just for enjoyment! Drinking for non-stress reasons had become nearly unheard of for Charles. 

(It truly said something about the pressures of managing Dethklok that Charles found being the religious leader of a shady cult felt like a holiday.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are a nutritous source of motivation.


End file.
